


Loyalty

by shark_wrangler



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shark_wrangler/pseuds/shark_wrangler
Summary: The Warrior steals a moment with his captain (emphasis on HIS) on the bridge.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Male Sith Warrior
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post betrayal, but far enough past that they're mostly over it. 
> 
> These two are always fun to write because neither one can talk like a normal goddamn person and they just enable each other's pretentious melodrama in an endless feedback loop.

The bridge was deserted. Kalarros had ensured that it would be, and he idly studied the starmap that was projected in the air before him while he waited, running a short length of woven plasteel cord through his fingers. It was roughly a centimeter wide and tinted a metallic black that gave the impression of snake scales. Both ends were capped with small silver loops, connected with a matching pendant that rested in his palm, elegantly minimalist and styled after a beast’s fang. To any casual observer, it would look like a piece of ordinary, understated jewelry. He had designed it that way.

He turned his head at the familiar, businesslike click of approaching boots. When Quinn entered, he looked surprised to see the bridge already occupied, but dipped his head respectfully without breaking his composure.

“I hope my presence won’t disturb you, my Lord,” he said crisply, “I only intend to ensure that my latest adjustments to the ship’s hyperdrive are functioning as intended, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“Not at all, Quinn, I was hoping you’d show up. I have something for you.”

“My Lord, I appreciate… oh.”

Kalarros held up the cord and pendant in one hand. Quinn, wisely, made no move to take them, but his eyes widened as his expression shifted from polite interest to immediate recognition, and his posture stiffened the way it always did when he was trying to cover some other, less dignified reaction.

“Whatever your past transgressions,” Kalarros said to him, “I no longer have any cause to doubt your loyalty, or your intentions. You have more than proven your devotion to me.”

“I strive to do nothing else, my Lord.”

“I know you do. And such loyalty should not go unacknowledged, don’t you agree? ”

“As you say, my Lord.”

It was an almost comically generic response, under the circumstances, but when one knew what to look for, the subtle changes in his demeanor the moment he had realized it wasn’t a professional exchange were obvious. Kalarros allowed himself a subdued smile. 

“Come here, Malavai, I want to see it on you.”

It was an innocuous command on its own, but at the use of his name, Quinn balked, visibly struggling as he was caught between obedience and propriety. Even now, he seemed rigidly determined to maintain the fiction that everyone else aboard was somehow still unaware of what they had been doing for the past year. It was impossible to resist using it against him occasionally.

“My Lord, this is… the bridge is hardly _private_.”

“Is it not my right to do as I wish with my things, Malavai?”

He could practically feel the reaction to that in the air, though Quinn was obviously still trying, poorly, not to show it.

“Of course, my Lord,” Quinn responded quickly, his cheeks coloring instantly, “it isn’t my place –”

“No, it isn’t. And you know I don’t like repeating myself.”

Quinn glanced toward the entrance to the bridge twice more, but the dangerous shift in Kalarros’s tone seemed to push past the last of his reservations, and he uneasily sprang to obey. He closed the remaining distance between them and pulled himself gingerly, but with a grace that his usual stiff mannerisms belied, into the captain’s chair, kneeling with his legs at either side of Kalarros’s hips. The hesitation might have damned him under other circumstances, but it had been somewhat unfair to put him on the spot, and Kalarros decided quickly that it wasn’t worth overturning the moment for. 

Quinn hovered just above him without settling, poised to flee the moment he heard approaching footsteps, until Kalarros placed firm hands about his waist and pulled him down into his lap. The flush over his pale skin deepened as the fastenings of his jacket were undone to fully expose his neck, and for a moment Kalarros was seized by the impulse to tear it off him and watch that warmth spread further across his shoulders and chest. He forced himself to set that thought aside for the moment – there _were_ limits to what they could reasonably get away with on the bridge – and instead dipped down to bite at the sharp ridge of Quinn’s collarbone. He heard a faint, suppressed moan in his ear and trailed more hungry, lapping bites across any uncovered skin he could reach until Quinn’s breathing turned faintly ragged and his fingers dug into Kalarros’s arms, the prim self-consciousness he shielded himself in beginning to crumble. 

When he finally pulled back again, Kalarros let his eyes linger on the mottled patterns he had left across Quinn’s neck and shoulder, low enough that the collar of his jacket would hide them, provided he was careful about how he moved. As soon as he noticed the scrutiny, Quinn tilted his head to allow for a better view, and Kalarros smiled in spite of himself. For all he pretended at humility and self-deprecation, Quinn was well aware of how bruises looked on him, and he all but preened under the attention. He was almost translucently pale; the faintest marks stood out on him, layered over each other like wine-red stormclouds. Even the creases of his jacket, the light scrape of teeth, had left faint impressions. Kalarros never tired of it, and couldn’t bring himself to pretend otherwise, even if he was only enabling that irrepressable streak of vanity.

He waited to be sure Quinn was looking at him again before he slid the cord deliberately around his neck. Quinn stilled instantly, his posture straightening. The pendant’s silver loop clicked easily into place, and Kalarros held it away from the unguarded skin under it as it heated from the spark of energy he sent into it. It was an unorthodox sort lock, keyed to the unique signature that he left in the Force. If anyone else wanted to remove it, they would have to break it. When he let it fall, it settled about Quinn’s neck as if it had always been meant to sit there, the pendent shining in the hollow between his collarbones, the black cord stark against the delicately abused skin beneath it.

“Beautiful,” Kalarros breathed, bending forward again as if to continue his slow assault on Quinn’s neck. Instead, he held back, let his breath ghost over the still-wet marks as Quinn shivered and let out a small whine. “By the stars, Malavai, the things I want to do to you.”

“Tell me,” Quinn responded immediately, his words hazy with want.

Kalarros straightened and gently closed his hand over the contours of his exposed throat, relishing the way Quinn tipped his head back and pressed into it, silently begging him to tighten his grip. He was always so responsive to the slightest touch, so desperate to be abused, that Kalarros was sure it had utterly ruined him for anyone else.

“I could have you right here on the bridge, take you apart and use you as I wish until you forget how to feel shame,” He let his fingers trail over the bruises, retracing his path slowly and eventually coming down to tug lightly at the next fastening on Quinn’s jacket. “Would you like that? Showing off those pretty marks on your skin while you begged for me?” He freed the next clasp and licked a single stripe across the newly exposed patch of skin. 

“I… ah…”

“You have such a talent for it, after all. If everyone knew what you look like on your knees, I’d have to start keeping you on a leash. I’m sure even the Dark Council would covet you. It seems almost unfair that I have your talents at the helm of my ship _and_ in my bed.”

“My Lord, not even the Emperor himself could turn me away from you,” said Quinn, desire thick in his voice as he leaned into every touch. 

“I know,” he said, “You do so much for me, Malavai. If anyone else dared to touch you I’d tear them apart myself.”

He bit hard into Quinn’s shoulder without warning, and Quinn immediately clamped his hand over his own mouth to muffle the yelp that almost rang through the bridge. Kalarros lapped soothingly over the bite and looked up admonishingly.

“Be careful, Malavai. You know how sound can carry on this ship.”

“I will… strive to remember, my Lord.” 

Kalarros smiled at him, trailing fingers along his jaw.

“My loyal, devoted Captain, always so eager to please.”

He seized Quinn by his hair and pulled him into a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. Quinn melted into it instantly with a small sigh, his hands travelling fervently over Kalarros’s face and neck until they curled into the folds of his cloak, drawing them both as close together as their positions allowed. His mouth was perfectly yielding, as if he only wanted to be devoured, and Kalarros could do nothing but oblige him.

Eventually, the frenetic heat between them naturally simmered to something quieter and less demanding, and he pulled himself away. Quinn was looking at him with something that was almost worship, and Kalarros would have seized the Emperor’s throne singlehandedly if he had asked for it at that moment. He ran his thumb over the pendant lock and pressed it, just lightly, into Quinn’s skin.

“It suits you,” he said, pressing his mouth to Quinn’s throat just above where it rested, “You belong to _me_.”

He felt Quinn shudder in his hands.

“Without reservation, my Lord. Always.”


End file.
